Memoirs of a Scoundrel
by Quill N. Inque
Summary: ONESHOT. UPDATED AND REVISED! Barbossa's final thoughts before he faces the noose...


Memoirs of a Scoundrel

Being the Final Thoughts of Captain Hector Barbossa in the Year of Our Lord 1726

A Pirates of the Caribbean One-Shot by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

Chapter 1 (and only)

"_If there is one realm in which it is essential to be sublime, it is in wickedness. You spit on a petty thief, but you can't deny a kind of respect for the great criminal."-__Denis Diderot_

The jailer came by this past mornin' to tell me that I am to hang at sundown. I was insulted, I told him, for the bluebloods that call themselves the law always hang those like me at noon and not sundown. The jailer brought me a proclamation, aye, written by King Georgey himself to herald that I had been brought to justice. Justice, ye say? Who are you to decide what is right and wrong? Them folks in Parliament act all noble an' righteous, but I know fer a fact that they make an art o' double-dealin' an' backstabbin' whilst they smile at each other in their ridiculous wigs. I, on the other hand, have always been honest about my being a scoundrel and a rogue, the Devil strike me down if I lie. Larceny an' murder are my chosen trades, an' they be more honest trades than any other, as those who deal in them admit to the principle of them enterprises.

Your King, as long as I am marking on the matter, has brought nothing but misery to his kingdom. I know damn well that them English monarchs are as much German as they are British, with French an' Russian mixed in there fer good measure. All o' these mullygrubbin' Kings an' Queens are relations of some sort, an' so I say that they are no better than mutts like me. An' yet these folks think themselves fit t'lecture on justice.

You dare to bring Hector Barbossa to justice? There is no justice but pirate justice in these latitudes, matey.

I hate Englishmen.

I hate Englishmen, though I hate the Portuguese more. I despise the Spanish most of all.

Frankly, I would rather be hanged by the French. At least they'd gimme a last supper that'd be better'n water an' biscuits. I may 'ave been born an Englishman, but I'd expire a Frenchman.

I take pride in the fact that I have accumulated such riches through honest murder and thieving whilst those landlubbin' moneybritches in London are born with a doubloon in their palm.

Riches. I was born poor, my hearty, with neither a shilling nor parents to call me own, but I am now a rich man. I have doubloons and ducats too numerous to number, silver and gold ingots piled high like mountains. Snuffboxes and silks and lace and spices, plundered from every corner of the world. I have a scimitar, too, which I took during a skirmish with them Barbary pirates. The man I took it from has no need for it anymore, seein' as I killed him an' threw him over the side. I have jewels, me hearty, stones of every shape an' size an' color, looted from every vessel from here to Hell. If I could just reach out my hand, I could clutch bejeweled swords and crowns and scepters, more riches than any Pharoah or tyrant has ever called his own, and I have hidden it all away so that your Georgey cannot claim them.

My story is one of time and distance, an' if I 'ad a score more years to add on, I would tell you of all the seas I plundered an' all the lands I afflicted. I would describe to you each an' every tar an' swain who died at the point of my blade, an' relate to you all o' my felonies an' misdemeanors. I have eaten the fruit and bread of every land and downed it all with Spanish wine. Good wine, by th' by, is the only attribute of Spain, as it has no other attribute except fast horses, and I attribute all the credit fer _that _t'the horses an' not Spain, my sir.

I 'ad a good, long laugh when that high-falutin' magistrate told me that he'd be lenient if I told him where my loot was hidden. I replied that I would drink merrily in Hell before I let one such as him lay a finger on my treasure. In turn, that magistrate told me that I would hang, which doesn't really bother me, seein' as how I was destined to pay Old Hob a visit sooner or later. No one knows where I have hidden my riches, not you, not Governor Swann, and especially that thrice-damned Jack Sparrow, and I take great pleasure in the knowledge that Sparrow will search high and low for that treasure and never find it. But at least Sparrow ain't a landlubber like you lot.

Aye, landlubbers, each and every one of ye. Ye spit on a sailor as he walks past, but a common pirate sees more and does more than any of ye can imagine. We are rovers. We breathe in the salt and the brine until it stings our eyes and sears our lungs, we tug and pull on lines and halyards until our chests are fit to burst. The rope that we spend hours pleating strains and thrums in the midst of a gale, and we take our ships where we choose while stealing whatever suits our fancy. Freedom, it is, freedom from yer King and yer rules and all yer damned social niceties. You believe us to be thieves, but a hearty can trust his mates far more than ye can trust each other. Ye spit on us as criminals, but it is the bluebloods like that magistrate who make us what we are today.

Origins aside, I could ne'er perform any other occupation. I am a rover, sir, and am suited fer naught else. Life on land has no taste at all fer me, as landlubbers sail on temperate seas of cream whilst my compatriots laveer through the storm an' gybe the sails whilst the buntline runs through our hands and cleaves them. Tell me of a life better than hoisting the mainsail or climbing the cordage, blaggard. Any pirate worthy of the name would go weatherly to oblivion rather than remain on land.

My hearties and I live by the sun and the moon and the North Star, and any pirate worth 'is teeth can estimate his latitude and longitude on a clear night. I have set foot upon islands where no Englishman has ever dropped anchor, while ye sit in yer comfy study with yer silver tea set and expensive tobacco.

I have some expensive tobacco in my coat pocket. I took it from a guard who passed too close to my cell, matey. There he is on the floor just over yonder, see? I will smoke that tobacco as I climb the steps to the noose, and on my arrival in Hell, I shall offer some to the Devil. I took three silver coins from the guard as well, so that I may hear them jangling when I begin to swing.

That guard is not the first man I murdered. I murdered my first tar when I was but twelve. An' ye know somethin'? I was _proud _of it. I had not begged or bartered for the coat I took off that dead man's shoulders. I had taken it. An' if ye think 'twas wrong fer me t'steal an' murder so's I could survive, then ye never starved as I did.

When I was but a wretch, I warn't pertickler 'bout wot I had fer supper. Rotted fruit was choicest. The other lads and I fought hardest for those bits, an' every one of us woulda picked each other's pocket fer just one more morsel t'eat afore goin' t'sleep. Even now, in my dog years, a blazing fire never warms me. My bones are too cold, ye see, fer I spent too many nights a-shiverin' an' a-starvin' in the Bristol lanes t'ever be warm agin. I come into this world without milk or mother, my sir. No one ever claimed me, not ever, an' especially not the so-called upstandin' citizens who spat and cursed at me as they walked past. So ye see, 'twas ye an' yer countrymen who forged me into the notorious scourge you now fear. I grow to love money fer the want of it.

Yer right t'fear me. I'll wait fer ye amidst the flames and brimstone. I'll send ye to the next level of howling Hell, I will.

You best tell yer fellows that it'll be a cold day in the infernal blazes before ye get the best of Barbossa. Ye say ye're a church-goin' man, but that'll do ye no good. I say agin that the preachers of Bristol never spared me a glance when I lay shivering and starving in the muck by the road. Me and my hearties steal gold and jewels, but ye steal people's lives. I got my loot the ol' fashioned way, through honest murder an' cheating, but ye enslave entire races an' cushion it under 'profit' and 'legality'. If I'm damned, and I surely am, then you are as well. At least I never filled my ship with a cargo of human bein's. An' ye call ME a savage? I have seen the slave ships that line yer pockets on my rounds from Africa, matey, an' I kin say fer certain that those ships rival my most heinous deeds. Aye, an' it never failed to provide me with entertainment to set those Negroes free an' watch 'em kill the crews of those slavers.

That's pirate justice for ye, my hearty.

I hear that damned drum strike up a beat, an' the jailer's keys jinglin' as he comes down to me cell. I laugh at his horror as he spies the body of the guard, just as I will laugh at all of ye in the light of the fires o' Hell. The light from the sun blinds me after bein' in a dim cell so long, and I feel no end to my pride as the crowd roars upon seein' me. I would have it no other way, matey, seein' as how you took the trouble to capture me for the bounty on my head. How much was it? Twenty thousand pounds? Thirty thousand?

Sparrow was never worth more than ten thousand pounds, an' I never let him fergit it.

Who do ye think'll be remembered thirty years from now, lad? I will. They will sing songs and tell tales of me, and ye will be forgotten in some dark dirty grave. I will live on in history, and you will crumble to nothing.

I grin at the executioner in his mask. That there mask is supposed to be intimidatin', but it's not. I've faced the Spanish, the Dutch, the French, aye, and the English too. I've battled cannibals and sea monsters and men-o-war, an' ye think a mask will scare me?

I do not fear that mask. I do not fear death, and most especially, my sir, I do not fear you.

What does a Bristol dog know of the whip when all he knows is the whip? What does a Bristol dog fear of darkness when all he knows is darkness? Death is a constant companion to men such as I, ye know. It stalks us all, just abaft of the keel, and it waits.

The wooden stairs creak beneath my boots as I ascend the gallows. I took good care to polish those boots, ye know. I will dance a jig in them fer Old Hob once he admits me to his fiery kingdom.

Now I feel the noose tighten around me neck, but not a flicker of fear stirs in me heart. The drums begin to beat faster, an' I figger 'tis just as well that I will be dead, for if I was not then I would certainly have a mother of a headache.

The executioner goes to pull the lever. The Devil is buildin' a torchlight parade fer me.

I saw the Indies, mate. I sailed all around this here world, an' I lived a freer life than you ever will, bound as you are by yer silly regulations.

I recall one last time that glorious sunset when I first put to sea so long ago. In that there sunset, I saw my destiny laying b'fore me, a golden hand filled with riches with a red dawn in the reckoning.

If I had one last wish, I'd wish that I'd died in me cell, if only t'spite yer wretched King an' cheat him of his hanging.

I am Hector Barbossa, my lad, Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea and one of the Nine Rogues.

I regret nothing. Damn you all.

I am Hector Barbossa.

And I am not telling you where I have hidden my treasure.


End file.
